Sanchez and Son
by Violet-The-Bat
Summary: A series of oneshots between Manolo and his father. There's nothing quite like father and son, huh?
1. Chapter 1: Nightmares

It was getting late, and Carlos was still wide awake. As he sat in his favorite chair by the fire, he was looking through an old scrapbook that held his precious memories of he and Carmen before the war.

Tomorrow was _Dia de los Muertos_, and it reminded him of the day he walked into the house after seeing a forest of_ bandidos_ flooding out of his house one evening, and saw his wife lying on the floor with a stab wound in her stomach, and then he remembered Manolo.

Oh, his precious son;_ porbrecito,_ he was only six months old when it happened. He remembered Manolo's crib being covered in a blanket, and hearing his muffled cries.

Carmen had died protecting their son, and she was worthy of honor.

Now, it was five years later. Manolo was growing up, but of course was only 5. He knew of his mom's death, and why she died, but that didn't change the fact that he missed her with all his little heart.

The grandfather clock read 12:00 pm. Carlos knew he should get to bed for some rest. Because tomorrow was a holiday, everyone had to get cleaned up and prepare the foods to take to Carmen's grave.

But, as he was taking off his shoes, he heard something.

_Creak Creak Creak_

He looked behind the chair to see Manolo standing there in his pajamas; his Sanchez curl all mussed and out of place, he rubbed his eye with one hand, and held onto his teddy bear with the other.

He looked like he had been crying.

"Papa?"

Carlos greeted his son gently and with a smile.

"Manolo, what are you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream."

The father smiled and held out his arms; Manolo smiled, and ran into them until Carlos felt like his son was welding into his chest, and he felt the little body shaking.

"What was the dream about?"

Manolo sniffled and looked up at him with dripping eyes. Carlos had feared something like this would happen. When Manolo was only four, he complained about having a nightmare almost 24/7. Carlos took him to see a psychatrist and was told that because everyone can remember something from their youth, Manolo's subconscious was traumatized by the death of his mom happening right where he could see it.

Carlos thought that was impossible because baby Manolo was covered when it happened. Then it came to him; the blanket being used was actually quite thin, and was considered transparent. When it was pulled over someone's face, it was like looking through a window.

The nightmares stopped for a good three months, and now they were back.

"I dreamt that I saw Mama dying. Only she was singing as she fell to the floor."

Manolo's powerful memory was too much to handle when it came to detail. Carlos shuddered at the description. Then, when he felt Manolo quaking from the terrifying dream, he picked him up, and let his son rest in his arms.

"You're alright, Son."

Manolo then pulled his teddy close to him and he became sleepy as he heard the heartbeat of his father, but refused to rest into sleep for fear of another nightmare. Carlos never memorized the tune to the lullaby Carmen always sang to Manolo, but, he did remember the one song he used to sing to Manolo when he was a toddler.

_A dor va la rosa de los rosales_

_y a dormir va mi nino porque ya es tarde_

_Este nino chiquito no tiene cuna_

_Su padre es carpintiro le va a hacer una._

(The best rose on the rose bush is going to sleep. My baby is going to sleep because it's already late. This little baby has no cradle. His father is a carpenter and will make him one.)

He looked down to see Manolo settling, and starting to relax, and sucking his thumb. Carlos then held Manolo closer to him and stood up, lightly bouncing the little one and making sure he felt secure.

"Shhh. Papa's here."

Little Manolo let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. "Goodnight Papa."

"Good night, Pequeno."

He heard the little snoring and seated himself back into the chair; all throughout the night, Manolo remained quiet, and slept peacefully. Carlos then knew that he really had the best gift of all.


	2. Chapter 2: Sick Day

FATHER AND SON: Sick Day

Carlos let out another cough; for a good week now, he'd been bedridden with the barking seal cough; a sickness that ran very well in the family and was even responsible for the 'near-death' experience Grandpa Luis complained about.

Although, he was always known to be a crybaby. No matter how macho he claimed to be, he loved milking the attention he got when sick.

That's what made Carlos different from his father. Carlos was no whiner and tried to keep a brave face whenever he was in mental and physical pain. He continued to lay there under a soft, warm quilt made by the loving hands of his deceased wife, Carmen.

His fever was up pretty high, and Grandma Sanchez couldn't help take care of him, because she was out of town to see her sister. He felt so cold, it was like he'd been imprisoned in a ice box; so that thick quilt probably wasn't a good idea.

Because he wasn't used to being sick, he didn't have the caretaker's sense that meant the colder he felt, the higher his fever actually was. Guess he'd have to fight this alone.

Trying to shake off the illness, he just tried sleeping the whole time, and only woke to eat.

He hated being helpless! His throat was sore, his head pounded, and the skin around his mouth and nose had become all dry from the constant rubbing of tissues against his stuffed and runny nose. Through his swollen eyes that were watering more than he wanted, he saw the clock read 9:00 am.

Poor Manolo hadn't even had breakfast yet. Because he had been bedridden, Carlos couldn't make any money, and the food around the house was already scarce.

He finally fought his fatigue and climbed out of bed with his robe on, trying to stay warm, and made his way to the kitchen.

Manolo usually liked bacon, eggs, and potatoes for his breakfast. Carlos checked the pantry and sighed in defeat once he saw that there were no more eggs in the basket they were usually stored in; he checked the box of meats that had been preserved in salt, and found nothing there except for a single slab of black forest ham.

He already knew that they were out of potatoes. He wished he could just shake this illness so he could earn enough money to feed his son a good breakfast; but all they had was enough oatmeal for one, and a slab of ham.

As Carlos stood, frying the meat on the stove, he heard a clanking noise, like, a...guitar had just been dropped. He turned around, and saw the instrument being carefully held by its proud owner, Manolo. The little boy had obviously been up for a little while and must've arrived in the kitchen because he heard his dad was up.

Manolo had grown very attached to Carlos ever since the death of his mother.

"Buenos Dias, Papa."

"Oh, Buenos Dias, Mijo."

"What's for breakfast?"

"Uh, oatmeal and ham."

He looked back at Manolo who excitedly took his spot at the table and patiently waited for the meal to be prepared. The sight of that made the father's heart break in half; he knew Manolo was just putting on a brave face and was really hungry.

"Are you feeling better, Papa?"

"No, not really."

As he poured the oatmeal into the bowl, he once again looked at Manolo and saw a look of concern on him.

"Don't worry, Son; I'll be better in no time. And then you'll be eating your favorite breakfast again."

"I don't want breakfast, I want you to just be better."

Carlos ignored the comment and placed the breakfast down on the table in front of his son, while taking his own spot next to him.

"Eat up, Mijo."

"Thanks, Papa."

Manolo sat there quietly, eating his breakfast without making a single complaint, and even offered some of it to his dad; Carlos kindly rebuffed and told his son to keep on eating if he wanted enough strength to stay healthy, and play with Maria and Joaquin.

"Besides, Mijo," he stated, "If we share that spoon, you'll end up sicker than me; and I'm practically on death's door." he laughed.

Manolo nearly choked on the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth, and eventually got it down without asking his father for any assistance. His father was dying? No! That can't happen; he already lost his Mama, and, without his father, the only person he had was Great Grandma Sanchez, and she was already an incredible age of 96. What if she didn't last long, either?

Why was everybody dying on him all of a sudden?! It's not fair!

Almost after hearing those terrifying words, Manolo jumped out of his seat and hugged his father tight.

"What's wrong, Son?" Carlos laughed. At first he thought Manolo was just being silly, like he tended to be, until he heard the boy's response.

"I don't want you to die, Papa! I don't wanna be alone!"

Carlos remained confused for a moment, but then thought of what he'd just said, and gasped in remorse, while hugging his son back.

"Oh, Son, I didn't mean that literally. I just meant my cold is very bad right now; I promise you, you'll never be alone."

Manolo sniffed and looked back up at him with his big, warm, hazel eyes.

"Really?"

"Really. Well, it looks like your done with breakfast. Why don't you go play with your friends now, while try to get better?"

"Okay."

Manolo snatched up his guitar from the corner and took off out the door.

Carlos picked up the dishes, and threw them in steaming water to wash them. Once they were clean, he put them up in the cupboard where they belonged and returned to the bedroom where he collapsed back onto the bed, and groaned as he yanked the covers back over him and shielded his head with a nearby pillow.

Later on, he woke up to the sound of an owl calling outside his window; he drowsily pulled the pillow from off his head and checked the time on his nightstand that read almost 7:30 in the evening. He should get up. Manolo probably hasn't even eaten lunch yet, because he gets so carried away with playing with Maria, Joaquin, and the Mariachi Bros.

Carlos often found himself getting onto his child about skipping meals so much.

"_If you're going to be a bullfighter, than you need to eat."_

"_Yes, Papa"_

He laughed at the thought of the dialogue he and his son often exchanged.

But, just as he was climbing out of bed, he saw the bedroom door open. At first, he thought that it was an intruder because he didn't even hear the front door creak like it usually did when it was opened.

But soon enough, Carlos was relieved at the sight of a familiar, and hereditary Sanchez curl pop through the doorway.

"Come in, Manolo."

The little Sanchez entered.

"Son, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn't even hear you come in."

"Sorry. I thought you were sleeping, and didn't want to wake you up."

"Well, at least your considerate. C'mon son, let's get some food in you."

As Carlos was getting out of bed, Manolo stopped him.

"Wait, Papa, stay in bed."

"But, we gotta eat, Mijo."

"I have a surprise for you."

Being very curious, Carlos stayed in bed and was definitely surprised at seeing Manolo bring in a tray with soup, crackers, and a small cup of ginger ale.

With care, Manolo placed it on his father's lap.

"What is all this? Manolo, please tell me that everything here is paid for."

"I promise it is, Dad."

"H-how did you get all this food?" 

"I worked for Mr. Garcia today. You know, helping him take inventory, clean, and stock the shelves at his store. As for my reward, he paid me, and I bought this for you to help your cold."

"Oh, son. Thank you so much. But, what about your food?"

"It's okay. I ate at Joaquin's." 

As they sat and talked together, Carlos finished the entire dinner and gave Manolo a hug filled with gratitude.

"You will make a great caretaker one day, too."

"Thanks, Papa. I actually-Achoo!"

Uh-Oh.

Manolo must have caught his father's sickness. Oh, well, he was young and healthy on a regular basis, so Carlos wasn't worried about his son's illness getting any worse.

Instead of sending him to his own room to get some sleep, they shared the giant bed, and woke up the next morning feeling much better, only this time, Great Grandma Sanchez was taking care of them.

And they were not the type of people to deal with tough love.

THE END


End file.
